


The Big Freeze

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Whump, Finger Sucking, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel get locked in a freezer. H/C ensues. <span class="small">Because there is no such thing as too much hypothermia!fic.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Freeze

**Spoilers/Warnings:** Set pre-‘The Rapture’, season four. A little swearing. Nowt else to worry about.

 

~ ~ ~

 

 

“Okay,” said Dean, staring at the door. “This isn’t good, is it?”

Castiel turned to face him and the look on his face was half-anger, half-regret. He’d led them in here, after all, following some demon vibe only he could feel, and it had turned out to be a trap. It wasn’t really his fault – it wasn’t as though he’d _known_ there’d be a sigil on the outside of the door just waiting to flare into life the minute they stepped into the freezer – but it was still down to him that they were in there, however accidentally.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, clenching his fists. “I can’t get us out.”

Dean nodded, unsurprised. “If the door’s out of the question, I don’t suppose you could rip a hole in the walls with your wicked angel super-strength?”

Castiel looked, if anything, a little embarrassed. “The sigil is extending its influence throughout all of the metal. I can’t touch any of it.” To prove his point, he held out a hand and tried to lean on the wall. His palm bounced off it and he hissed. Dean didn’t know if it was from pain or not, but it certainly didn’t look as though he enjoyed the action.

“The floor’s not metal,” Dean observed hopefully, looking down at the stone tiles. “Can’t you break out through there?”

“No,” said Castiel. “There is nowhere to go. And while I can stand on the tiles, they are still part of the ward and contain some of its power. I can’t break out. We’re trapped in here.” He looked up at Dean and frowned. “You will not survive for long in this cold.”

Dean frowned back, annoyed at his bluntness. “Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine? There has to be a way out of here, Cas. I’m not freezing solid in some empty meat locker. I’m not a freaking _ham._ ”

He strode past his companion and kicked the door, but it was thick and unyielding. He looked around him for something to use to hit it with but there wasn’t anything, only thin wire shelving units. The freezer was empty. The restaurant had been closed for weeks, but nobody had thought to turn off the power. The walls glinted prettily with frost but Dean didn’t really have an eye to appreciate that right now; he had to call Sam to come and get them before they both became ice cubes.

Unfortunately, when he pulled out his cellphone it told him there was no coverage inside the metal box, and he was just considering waving it in the air to try to improve the reception when it suddenly blinked off, the screen powering down. He shook it angrily.

“Its battery is not built to withstand these temperatures,” Castiel informed him helpfully.

“How cold is it in here, anyway?” Dean asked, putting the useless phone back in his pocket and zipping up his coat. “I bet you guys have built-in thermometers.”

“It is minus twenty degrees Celsius,” Castiel announced, squinting up at the ceiling. “Or minus four degrees Fahrenheit, if you prefer.”

“Science geek,” Dean muttered, giving the door one last kick and turning away. He blew on his hands, wishing he had some gloves, but of course he’d had no idea he’d end up trapped in a giant cooler when he’d left the motel earlier that afternoon. “Okay, so Sam knows we were investigating this place,” he declared optimistically. “All we have to do is sit tight and wait for him to drag his sorry ass in here to find us.”

Castiel stared at him thoughtfully. “You need to move around, Dean. You must keep warm. Don’t sit.”

“It’s just an expression, man. I know I have to keep moving. I’m not sitting on the floor or I’ll freeze my tackle off.” Dean sighed and gazed up at the blue lightbulb in the ceiling. “I guess we’re lucky that’s still on. Although… isn’t the light supposed to go _off_ when you shut the door?”

“It is off,” Castiel said. “I’m keeping it alight.”

Dean looked across at him and raised his eyebrows. “Cool. What else can you do? Can you boil a kettle just by thinking about it? Run a toaster?”

“My powers have been greatly diminished by the sigil. The bulb is all I can influence.” He frowned at Dean. “You need to remove your watch.”

Dean stared at him blankly. “Huh? Why, what are you going to do with it?”

“Nothing. The back of the watch face is metal. It will stick to your skin in this cold.” Castiel looked around them as he spoke, his eyes tracing over every inch of the freezer. “It would be a good idea to remember that if you touch anything metal from now onwards. Human skin is delicate in these conditions.”

Dean had a sudden image of Jeff Daniels with his tongue stuck to a ski lift in _Dumb And Dumber_ and shook his head in relief. “Good call. I would’ve forgotten that.” He removed his watch and placed it in his pocket, but not before he noticed that it had stopped working. Apparently his cell wasn’t the only thing affected by the cold.

And he was getting colder by the second now, too. At first the air had chilled his lungs and woken him up like a slap around the face, but they’d been in here long enough for it to start to feel uncomfortable. He shivered and put his hands in his pockets, wishing his coat was thicker. Castiel glanced at him and read his body language perfectly. He pulled off his trench coat and held it out. Dean took it, eyeing him suspiciously. “You don’t need it? You’re not cold?”

“The temperature does not affect me.” To prove his point, Castiel shrugged off his suit jacket, too. Dean took it and spent a few moments trying to figure out how he could put it on under his coat without taking the coat off first and freezing in the process. It was too small to go over his clothes. The trench coat was, too. This was going to be tricky.

“Do it quickly,” Castiel advised him, and Dean was surprised to see a faint smile on his face, which was pale and blue in the strident lighting. Then the angel turned to the door and pushed against it, but his hands slid sideways as though the metal had been greased and he jerked them away, gritting his teeth. He looked down at his palms as though they had offended him. “This is frustrating,” he declared.

“That’s one word for it,” Dean hissed, juggling coats and trying to wriggle into a jacket that didn’t fit him without shivering so hard he fell over. He ended up wearing a t-shirt, two shirts, a jacket and two coats, but as he looked down at himself he realized that his jeans weren’t going to afford him much warmth and his toes were already going cold inside his boots. For the first time, it hit him that Castiel was right: he was going to freeze to death. Humans weren’t meant to exist in conditions like this, and if Sam didn’t get there any time soon…

“Uh, Cas?” he said nervously, blowing on his hands. “Please tell me you’ve got a plan worked out, cause I’m starting to get nervous here.”

Castiel said nothing; he simply stared at the door as though he could will it open. Dean had no doubt he probably could, if only he wasn’t under the influence of some freaky angel-draining sigil. Struck by a thought, he asked him, “You can keep the bulb going, but what about your other powers? Can you do anything?”

Castiel looked round at him. “I can fly,” he offered, with a shrug. “But I can’t go anywhere.”

“Can you rub your wings together and make a fire?”

“No.” The angel answered so solemnly Dean had no idea if he’d understood he’d been joking.

“Okay then.” Dean breathed out a huge cloud of frost. “So, uh… what the hell are we gonna do?”

 

~ ~ ~

 

As it turned out, they couldn’t do a damn thing. After an hour Dean was really starting to feel the cold and no amount of running on the spot or wrapping his arms around himself seemed to help. His lungs burned with every breath and, despite all the layers he was swaddled in, they were thin enough that he was still shivering. His legs felt like popsicles beneath his denim pants and he was perilously close to losing the feeling in his toes.

Castiel had frost in his hair, but otherwise he seemed completely unaffected. He watched Dean for a while and then bent down to pull off his own shoes. Dean stared at him in disbelief as he pulled off his socks and placed his bare feet on the floor without so much as a wince. It was impossible; it should have been agony for him, but he didn’t seem to care. He held out the socks and said, “Put these on.”

Dean tried to laugh, but the sound came out as more of a juddery moan because he was shaking too much. “Hope you’ve got clean feet,” he quipped hoarsely, taking the socks – which were gratifyingly warm – and bending over to untie his boots. Well, he tried to untie them, anyway; his fingers were trembling so much he couldn’t seem to loosen the knots, and the longer he tried the colder they got until he could barely feel them at all.

He sighed, annoyed at his own ineptness. “Ah… Cas? A little help here.”

It was embarrassing, but he had to lean on Castiel’s shoulder with a shaking hand as the angel knelt and removed his boots for him, before easing on the socks with firm fingers that weren’t shaking at all. By the time Dean placed his feet back in his boots again he could feel that their interiors had chilled; he hoped the extra pair of socks would help. And that it wouldn’t take long for his shoes to replace the heat they’d just lost.

“Your legs are not adequately protected,” Castiel pointed out, as he rose to his feet again. _Bare_ feet, and Dean still hadn’t stopped freaking out over the sight of them looking so naked and vulnerable in the midst of this uncomfortable room.

“Not much I can do about that,” he replied, stamping his own feet in place, as though jarring his body would warm it up somehow. Mainly he just wanted to jolt his toes into life again. It didn’t work.

Castiel started undoing his belt. Dean blinked at him for a moment, puzzled, before the penny dropped and grabbed his wrist. “Whoa Nelly! It’s okay, I don’t want your pants. It’s bad enough I’m wearing your socks without you going full stripper on me, dude.”

“You’d place my modesty over your life?” Castiel’s face was calm, but Dean could swear he could hear amusement in his voice.

“Just… don’t, Cas.” He stopped as Castiel raised his eyebrows, then felt he had the urge to explain. “It’s weird, okay? I don’t want your pants or the shirt off your back. Besides, the material’s so crappy I doubt they’d keep me any warmer anyway. Just… stay dressed.”

Castiel sighed, but he didn’t say anything. He turned to stare at the door again. Dean thought it probably should have had two eyeholes burnt through it by now from his gaze. Then he shuddered, cupping his hands in his armpits. He could feel his lips cracking. His nose felt numb. Even his eyes were starting to feel scratchy. _Dammit._

He was really, really cold. He wondered how long it would be before Castiel’s pants started looking like a padded quilt.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Dean closed his eyes. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but he was tired. He leant against the nearest wall and rested them, just for a moment, shutting out the harsh blue light and trying to filter out the relentless hum of the refrigeration unit. He let his head sink forward until his nose was being warmed by the collar of his coat and let his body relax.

After a while the shivers passed. He felt himself warming up.

That was good, right?

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor and Castiel was shaking him roughly. He groaned, pissed at him for disturbing his sleep, and then the cold hit him like a truck and he started shivering so hard he thought his teeth were going to rattle out of his head.

“Dean!” Castiel shook him again. “Talk to me! Keep your eyes open. No, don’t go to sleep. Dean!”

“ _Nnngh,_ ” Dean replied, discovering that his tongue didn’t seem to want to work. He batted Castiel’s hands away angrily and then stared at his fingers, shocked. They were blue. Alright, so there was a blue lightbulb in the cooler and everything else was blue, too, but they looked way bluer than they should have been.

And he couldn’t feel them at all.

“C-cold,” he managed to stutter, his brain lurching awake again. _Shit._ He needed to get off the floor because he could feel the cold seeping through his pants – and even through the coats – but he knew without even trying that he wasn’t going to be able to stand up. The cold had hit him at last. He had to be hypothermic by now, and there was no rescue in sight. This was getting damn serious, and he’d just proved he couldn’t handle it.

Castiel gripped him by the front of his coat and pulled him into a sitting position. Dean lolled against him despite his efforts not to, hating his body for being so unresponsive. Then again, he’d spent the last few hours trapped inside a giant freezer. There were extenuating circumstances. He felt a brief, glowing rush of relief that Castiel wasn’t feeling the same way – if it had been Sam in here with him, chances were they’d both be unconscious by now – but he also felt a rush of resentment. Why couldn’t Castiel help him? Why couldn’t he get them out of here? It didn’t seem fair. Dean had his very own angel, but all he could do was share his socks with him.

“I have to get you off the floor,” Castiel was saying, holding Dean’s head upright and staring into his eyes. His hand was blessedly warm on Dean’s chin. “Knowing you, you won’t like this very much, but I have no choice.” He paused, licked his lips and added authoritatively, “Please don’t complain.”

Dean frowned at him in confusion, but his unspoken question was answered a moment later when Castiel sat down and lifted Dean onto his lap with the ease of someone gently scooping a cat off the floor and placing it on their knees. Dean found himself with his back resting on Castiel’s chest and the angel’s arms circled around his front, keeping him in place. Meanwhile, his butt sat quite comfortably on his partner’s groin.

Castiel was right: he didn’t like it very much.

“You’re hugging me,” he complained, although he didn’t struggle. He could already feel the heat bleeding through his clothes from the body beneath his, and he knew this was the right thing to do. Now he thought about it, he was probably lucky Castiel hadn’t ripped off the remains of his clothes and insisted on bare skin contact. This was nothing compared to _that_.

“I’m insulating you,” Castiel told him idly, bending his knee to balance himself better. Dean heard a small rattle and realized that Castiel had leaned back on the metal shelves; it wasn’t as though he could lean on the walls. They repelled him.

“What’s Sam gonna say when he gets here?” Dean protested weakly. “This is almost _snuggling._ ”

“He’ll say, ‘Thank you for saving my brother’s life, Castiel.’”

“He’ll ask you what your intentions are toward me,” Dean said, trying and failing to stifle a mammoth shiver. “And then he… he’ll tell me I look b-better in your s-stupid coat than you d-do.”

“If insulting me is what will keep you awake and warm, Dean, then by all means continue.”

“Are you s-sure I’m not sq-squashing you?” Dean asked thinly, because even though he knew Castiel was super-strong and all-powerful and could probably bend iron with his bare hands or some such shit like that, he was still being affected by the spell keeping him trapped in this place. Dean knew he weighed enough to give him two dead legs pretty damn soon.

“I am fine,” Castiel said, his breath tickling Dean’s ear. Unconsciously, Dean leaned backwards, seeking more of its warmth, and Castiel tightened his grip around his chest to hold him upright. It felt… weird. Dean wasn’t used to being hugged by a guy. Hell, he wasn’t used to _sitting on laps_.

“I feel like a g-gangster’s moll or something,” he declared ruefully. “Like you’re g-gonna start f-feeding me grapes. This is–” He lost the rest of the sentence to a coughing fit that curled him over around Castiel’s arms, his head lolling forward as he struggled to fill his lungs. They weren’t happy that he’d been breathing icy air for so long and he understood their objection. By the time he’d collected himself again his eyes were watering. The tears froze on his face.

Castiel made a soft, sad noise behind him. “I am sorry, Dean. I had no idea this was a trap. The demon was clever and hid its true intentions very well.”

“D-demons are sneaky like that,” Dean gasped, sitting upright again. “It’s alright, C-Cas. I don’t blame you. Shit happens.”

“Sam will be wondering where you are by now. He will be here soon.”

“Yeah, he’s a nosey b-bastard alright.”

The conversation dried up after that. Dean was too busy trying to quell the shivers that were threatening to tear him apart, and Castiel just sat beneath him, saying nothing. The heat from his body was filtering through Dean’s clothes, particularly around his legs, and oddly enough an angel’s lap was far more comfortable than the floor for perching on. But nothing Castiel did could really offset the fact that Dean was slowly freezing to death, and both of them knew it.

“S-so tell me about Heaven,” Dean said eventually, as he blew on his fingers and tried not to panic about the fact he couldn’t feel the warmth of his breath. “What’s it like up there? Is it all cherubs and harps or do they have WWE and TiVo to keep you entertained?”

Castiel didn’t speak for an uncomfortable amount of time. In the end Dean twisted to look at him, not realizing quite how close his face would be to his as he turned, and so he ended up gazing him straight in the eyes with a faint sense of shock. Castiel’s eyelashes and eyebrows were white with frost and his eyes glittered in the unearthly blue light.

“Cas?” he queried, wondering if he’d offended him somehow.

“I haven’t been there in a long time,” said his companion stiffly. “My garrison has been away for many years.”

He didn’t say where they’d been, and Dean didn’t press him. “Do you g-get homesick?” he asked instead.

A muscle in Castiel’s jaw twitched. “It’s _Heaven_ , Dean.”

Dean sniffed, sensing his sadness. “I’m sorry. Must suck, being away all the time. Bet you just want to g-go home and kick off your shoes and crack open a beer in front of the b-box.”

“I can kick off my shoes at any time,” Castiel said seriously. Dean turned away from his face and the warm, welcome breath playing on his cheek and looked down at the angel’s toes, so pale and fragile against the freezing tiles. They looked a little ridiculous, and Dean chuckled. Then he shuddered, his body reminding him that he shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this, and a wave of weariness threatened to shut him down. He tried to tick off all the symptoms of hypothermia in his head but he couldn’t concentrate – which, he knew, was a symptom in itself. He was going to get more tired. Confused. Forgetful. After a while he’d be good for nothing, and he wasn’t even going to _think_ about frostbite and its consequences.

He studied his hands, noting how they’d started curling into claws because he couldn’t feel them to straighten them. To his chagrin, he also couldn’t seem to find a way to slide them under his clothes to keep warm without letting in too much cold air. His pockets were useless. He rested them on Castiel’s arm for a moment, soaking up the warmth from beneath his cotton shirt, and wished for the millionth time that he was wearing gloves.

“Here, let me,” Castiel said suddenly, and two blissfully warm hands wrapped around his and gripped them tightly, all heat and strength. Dean gasped, some tiny part of him wanting to object and pull away – holding hands wasn’t really his style – but common sense prevailed and he didn’t move an inch. Castiel held him still for a while and then began to rub at his skin, encouraging some pretty painful pins and needles as the bloodflow prickled awake, and Dean could only suffer through it and shiver.

“Thanks,” he breathed quietly, and it occurred to him that he’d only ever said _thank you_ to Castiel one other time, back when he’d helped him with Lilith and the archangel, and he should probably do it a whole lot more.

Castiel didn’t reply, but he squeezed Dean’s fingers gently before rubbing them again. Dean stared down at them for a little while as his mind wandered away to somewhere warm and comfortable, and when Castiel shook him awake he almost hated him for it.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Dean was trying to keep his eyes open. He was trying _so hard_ but his head felt as though it was filled with slush and his body was as limp as a sack of potatoes. He just wanted to sleep, but Castiel wouldn’t let him. He told him off, poked him, pinched him, shook him and, on one occasion, slapped him. Dean was getting sick of it, but despite his lethargy he knew it was the only way to save his life.

Castiel was also trying his damnedest to keep him warm, smoothing gentle, heated hands anywhere he could reach, skin on skin underneath the layers of clothing that didn’t seem to be helping Dean any. The first time he’d placed a palm on the back of Dean’s neck it had made him jump and hiss in a breath of shock; now he craved his touch. But there were only so many places Castiel’s hands could go, and only so much of his body that they could rub and massage back to some semblance of normality. Dean’s toes were a memory to him. His hands needed warming up all the time. His nose – of all things – was so numb Dean kept poking it with an equally-cold finger, trying to feel it, but he couldn’t.

There was frost all over his body now. Everything around them was a cold, whitish blue. It was like being inside a drawer in a morgue, all stainless steel and freezerburn.

He knew Sam would find them. He knew it. His watch had stopped so he had no idea how long they’d been in there, and when he’d asked Castiel the angel had looked a little perplexed and announced that he didn’t know, which was worrying in itself because angels were supposed to be in control of time and Fate and all that crap. Anyway, Sam was out there and he knew the name of the restaurant. He’d come looking. He would. It was only a matter of time, and until then Dean had Castiel to help him fight off the cold.

Or he _thought_ he had him, at least. Dean was so out of it that it took him a good half an hour to figure out something was wrong, and another few minutes to summon up the energy to ask about it.

“Cas?” he croaked miserably. “Are you s-shaking?”

Castiel shifted a little underneath him, making the wire metal shelves behind his back rattle. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he deflected, his palm lying flat on Dean’s left side beneath his clothing. It felt so hot on Dean’s chilled skin that Dean fancied he was burning another brand on his flesh.

Dean thought about it sluggishly for a while before replying, “But you’re not supposed to shake. You’re n-not supposed to feel the c-cold.”

Castiel removed his hand, tucked the clothes back around Dean’s torso and placed his palm on Dean’s forehead. “It’s alright,” he soothed him. “I am fine. It’s just this body that’s losing residual heat. There’s only so long I can keep it functioning in this temperature.”

Now _that_ was the kind of information to wake Dean up fully. “You’re going to freeze?” he asked, astounded, and struggled to turn around. It was awkward; he was stiff from the cold and being in the same position for so long, but he managed to swivel so that his legs spilled sideways from Castiel’s lap and he could look him in the eyes. He was perturbed to see that the angel looked drained and pale, his face drawn.

“I will be okay,” his companion assured him calmly, but even as he said it he shivered and a trace of annoyance flicked over his features as he tried to suppress the movement.

“Yeah, you look just p-peachy,” Dean told him bitterly. “Why d-didn’t you say anything?”

“Dean, the moment that sigil is broken, I will heal. Even if I freeze solid in here, I won’t feel it. My priority is you. You have no such luxury.”

Dean tried to think, but his brain wasn’t really up to much right now. There was something nagging at him, though, and he had to think for a good long while before he finally nailed what it was.

“You’ve got wings, haven’t you?” he asked. “Can’t you… I d-dunno, wrap us up in them or something? Wouldn’t they be all feathery and warm?”

Castiel sighed and looked away. “You can’t touch them,” he explained. “They’re part of my true self. They would burn you.”

“Burning sounds g-good right now,” Dean said, and he was only half-joking.

“I think you would disagree if we put it into practice.” Castiel stared at the door forlornly and then turned back to Dean. “Sam will be here soon. I’m sure of it.”

Castiel had no way of knowing, of course, but Dean appreciated his effort to cheer him up regardless. “He’d better b-bring hot c-chocolate,” he muttered darkly. “And mittens. I’ve n-never wanted to wear m-mittens in my life, but now would be a g-good time. M-mittens would be the best thing ever. B-better than sex, even.”

“My hands are growing colder by the second,” Castiel informed him, his voice troubled. “I’m not sure how long I can keep warming you.”

Dean shuddered, and as he did it occurred to him that he hadn’t been shivering much over the last half an hour or so. He was pretty sure that was a sign his hypothermia was progressing; he wished he could remember the rest of the symptoms, but he was also kind of relieved he couldn’t. He knew he had to be wary of sleep, but sleep really did seem like the greatest thing in the world right now and Castiel’s firm body against his was possibly the most comfortable bed he’d ever had. He pondered awhile over why that should seem so strange, but he couldn’t seem to put his finger on exactly what it was that…

“Dean? _Dean._ ”

He blinked his eyes open again, feeling a small burst of surprise run through him; he couldn’t remember closing them. The room came back into focus and he moaned groggily as Castiel tapped him on the cheek with fingers that seemed far cooler than they had up until now. “I’m c-cold,” he told him, only dimly aware that it was possibly the most redundant thing to say to anybody ever. “We n-need to g-get out of here, Sammy.”

“We will, Dean,” said Castiel firmly, and he rolled out from under him and lay him down on the tiles with such gentleness that Dean barely even felt it. He was frozen in an instant; the floor was icy and his clothes afforded scant protection, but he was curious to see what Castiel was doing on his feet and he huddled into himself while watching him.

It was a valiant effort to escape, but it failed. Castiel kicked at the door for what seemed like an eternity, his bare feet sliding off some kind of invisible forcefield with every impact and making no impression on the metal at all. Dean watched in weary fascination as Castiel pounded on thin air with his fists before _pushing_ with what seemed like every ounce of his strength – all to no avail. Panting, he spun round and marched towards the shelves, picking up one of the racks and hoisting it over to the door. He left bloody footprints in his wake which froze solid in seconds; he’d hurt his feet with all that kicking. Dean opened his mouth to ask him if he wanted to borrow his shoes – hell, it wasn’t as though he could feel his own feet, so they didn’t need them – but Castiel broke the silence first by whacking the door with the shelves…. which promptly disintegrated in his hands. They were too insubstantial, and the door remained stubbornly unmarked.

“Hulk smash!” Dean muttered sleepily, feeling his lips cracking where he’d just licked them.

“I will find that demon and make it pay for this,” Castiel ground out, slamming a fist into the wall and pulling it back when it slid ineffectually sideways. “An angel should never be weakened this way.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He was drifting again, lost in that hinterland between sleep and wakefulness, and he was only aware on the most detached levels of his senses of being picked up and hugged. It was different this time: Castiel turned him until they were face to face and Dean dropped his head until it fit under his chin, his cheek resting on Castiel’s shoulder. Hands rubbed up and down his back and he groaned a little in protest as the movements interrupted his attempt to pass out and say _to hell with all this crap_.

“You will not die here, Dean,” Castiel breathed in his ear.

“ _Mmm,_ ” Dean mumbled by way of reply, not really understanding what was happening. He was so tired. If only he could sleep…

It took him a while to notice that something was going on with his hands. When he finally opened his eyes, puzzled by the weird sensations being sent to his brain, the sight he saw took his breath away with its unexpectedness.

Castiel was sucking his fingers. He had all four of the digits on his right hand in his mouth and was licking them with a tongue that was so warm it felt like Heaven. Dean stared at him, astonished, but made no move to pull his hand away.

Castiel’s hands were cold now, but his mouth was warm.

He watched mutely as Castiel moved onto his thumb, licking and sucking it until it tingled back to life and made Dean gasp. Then the angel tucked Dean’s damp hand inside his shirt, resting it on his still-warm ribs, and set to work on the other one. He dropped his eyes to Dean’s face as he sucked, his expression innocent and full of nothing but concern; he didn’t seem to have a clue that sucking another man’s fingers was way too intimate – in fact, as far as Dean was concerned it was bordering on pretty damn kinky. But he found that he didn’t care, because his hands were warm for the first time in ages and the sensation was so pleasurable it had actually woken him up from his stupor. Screw propriety. Screw embarrassment. This was life or death, and it wasn’t as though Dean wasn’t already snuggled up with a barefoot angel who’d been laying hands all over him for hours in an attempt to keep him from turning into an icicle.

Castiel finished warming his fingers and slid Dean’s hand inside his shirt to join its partner, then pulled him closer to his chest, so close that Dean had to move his hands around under Castiel’s shirt until they rested on the base of his spine. All of which meant that he was full-on hugging him now, his face buried in the angel’s shoulder, and it was all Dean could do to stop himself from sliding his hands down the back of Castiel’s pants where he knew there’d be more warmth. He had a feeling Castiel wouldn’t mind if he did, but…

A shiver rattled through Castiel’s body and made Dean shake in return. “You okay?” he rasped, concerned, a little shocked at how rough his voice sounded. Maybe his vocal chords were in the process of freezing shut. It certainly felt like it.

“D-don’t worry about me,” Castiel replied, squeezing him tighter. “I won’t c-come to any harm.”

“Good job your t-teeth weren’t chattering a few moments ago. I’d hate to lose a f-finger that way.”

“You were lucky I wasn’t… h-hungry.”

Dean smiled, then winced as his lips cracked. “Ow,” he hissed, automatically licking his lips and then regretting it as the dampness froze them even further. “Y’know, usually when I d-die it’s in Sam’s arms. This m-makes a refreshing ch-change.”

“You are n-not going to d-die today, Dean. Your brother will be here soon.”

“Hope he’s bringing a blowtorch, cause he’s g-gonna have fun separating us when we’re frozen solid together.” Dean chuckled wryly. “We’ll look like some sort of f-freaky ice sculpture. Like a c-carved swan or a… something.” He coughed, losing his train of thought.

The light above their heads flickered and went out. Dean stiffened, blinking in the sudden absolute darkness, his instincts telling him that it could only mean danger – was the demon coming back? But Castiel shuddered and shushed him, stroking his cheek with a trembling hand. “It’s okay, I d-did that,” he explained, and Dean could actually hear his teeth chattering. “I need to conserve my energy. It wasn’t d-difficult to keep alight, but it was st-still draining me.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean croaked. “So now I’m sitting in the d-dark with my arms around an angel who was j-just sucking on my f-fingers. This k-kind of thing couldn’t be misconstrued at _all_.”

Castiel didn’t reply. Dean closed his eyes; hell, there was no point keeping them open when he couldn’t see jack-shit. Unfortunately, the moment his eyelids slammed shut he slid into slumber as though the two events were inextricably linked, and when Castiel shook him awake again he had absolutely no idea where he was or what was going on. He would have panicked except that he was too tired, so instead he simply moaned.

“It’s alright,” came a voice out of the darkness. “I’ve got you.”

“S-Sammy?”

“He’ll be here soon. Try to stay awake for me, okay, Dean?”

Dean didn’t have a clue who was holding him but they were warm enough for him to burrow into, his cheek rubbing against the cool cotton of their shirt. He realized with some surprise that his hands were wrapped around the stranger’s body and his fingers were tucked into the back of their pants, but they didn’t seem to mind and it was warm down there, so he didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he _could_ move, actually; he felt frozen and utterly, utterly miserable.

“Are we inside a f-freezer?” he asked.

The chest he was leaning against rose and fell as its owner sighed. “Yes, Dean.”

“Who… who are you?”

Two fingers brushed his forehead and he remembered in an instant. Ah. Castiel. The sigil. They were trapped. He coughed a little, the sound echoing harshly off the metal walls, and found himself smiling. “Sorry about the hands,” he apologized, knowing he should feel terrible for sneaking them down Castiel’s pants, even if he had done it without realizing, but it wasn’t as though he was _doing_ anything down there except keeping them warm.

Castiel made a noise that could have been a chuckle. “I think they are the least of m-my worries right now, Dean.”

“I’m not c-copping a feel or anything, I swear.”

A hand brushed through his hair, making him jump. “You are ridiculous,” said Castiel, his voice brimming with fondness. Dean closed his eyes and sighed, unsure how to reply. Before he knew it he was asleep again.

~ ~ ~

 

He awoke to the sound of groaning, and the body he was pressed against jerked violently with what had to be more than just chills. Confused, he blinked into the darkness and opened his mouth to speak, but as he did so a hand shoved itself down the front of his coat, lay still for a few seconds and then left again. He frowned, confused, wondering why it had done that and why he felt different. _Warmer._

Castiel spasmed against him, hissing through his teeth in what could only be pain, and Dean felt a twinge of fear. “Cas?” he asked, his voice small and empty in the darkness.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel assured him, but his voice sounded a little strained.

“You don’t sound okay. What the hell are you d-doing?”

A hand snaked down the back of his coat and stopped between two layers of shirts. Dean gasped, taken by surprise, but before he could react the hand was gone, to be followed by Castiel twitching and groaning in a manner that was most definitely _not_ okay.

“Cas!” Dean snapped, pulling his hands out from under his partner’s shirt and trying to sit upright without help. “Talk to me, man! What’s going on?”

Castiel was breathing heavily, his body shaking. A hand fell on Dean’s arm and squeezed it. “D-do you feel warmer?” he asked him urgently.

“A bit, yes. But how? What are you doing?”

“Feathers.”

Dean caught his breath. “W-what?”

“You c-can’t touch my wings, but once I’ve p-pulled out a feather it’s no longer connected to my true self. They c-can be used as insulation.”

Dean made the connections: the jerks, the yelps, the fact that Castiel had been stuffing things inside his clothes… “You’re plucking out your own feathers?” he gasped in amazement. “D-doesn’t it hurt?”

“You are warmer,” Castiel responded, as though that was all that mattered.

“I don’t believe this! You’ve been _mutilating_ yourself so you can keep me warm? Holy c-crap, Cas, you have to stop!”

“They will grow back,” Castiel told him, sounding faintly amused. “Think of them as f-fingernails. Pull one out, a n-new one grows in its place.”

Dean snorted. “So you’ve effectively been pulling out your own _fingernails?_ That has to hurt!”

There was a silence and then Castiel said quietly, “I will heal. You will not.”

Dean reached inside his coat, struck with curiosity, but no matter how hard he searched he couldn’t find anything. And yet he’d just felt Castiel put something there – where was it?

“You can’t feel them. You’re human.”

Dean coughed and drew in a freezing breath. “So they’re _magic_ feathers now, are they? What are you, part-pixie or something?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Castiel shivered and a soft noise left his throat; it sounded distressed, hurt, and Dean put a hand on his arm in concern. A too-cold hand closed over it and squeezed. “I know I said I w-would not be harmed by the cold, b-but I didn’t make allowances for how… unpleasant it is to f-freeze.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean mumbled unhappily. “C-can’t you use your feathers on yourself? They’ve helped a bit.”

Castiel was silent for a while, so Dean tightened his fingers around his arm. The angel sighed. “I c-can’t risk pulling out many more,” he revealed, his words stilted and slow, as though he didn’t really want to say this. “I will lose too much b-blood.”

“You’re _bleeding?_ Dammit, Castiel!”

“Once the sigil is b-broken…”

“Screw the sigil! You’re already f-freezing to death, Cas! Don’t make it any worse for yourself!”

“Your concern is misplaced, Dean.”

Dean felt a wave of weariness sweep over him and closed his eyes. “Yeah, well. I c-can’t help it if I get annoyed at you for being a martyr.”

“Wise words, c-coming from the man who went to Hell to save his b-brother.”

Dean smiled, then winced as his lips cracked again. Both of them fell silent, lost in their own thoughts, and Dean had to fight very hard not to doze off. He was still cold and clearly hypothermic, but the feathers were helping, even if he couldn’t feel them. He wondered if Castiel’s blood was visible or invisible, and if he’d made himself sick in addition to the fact his body was succumbing to the cold, and that was all the musing on angelic conundrums his brain could handle before he passed out.

When he woke up again, Castiel was kissing him.

His palm was on the back of his neck, supporting his head. Castiel’s other hand was on the small of his back, holding him upright. His lips were warm and soft and Dean instinctively leaned towards them, seeking heat, forgetting everything except that he was cold and this person before him was warmer than he was. Castiel obligingly opened his mouth so Dean could bathe in his breath; their tongues wrestled for a few moments until Dean gave up, too tired to investigate any more, and then his partner thrusted inside his mouth with a tiny, desperate moan that would most probably have made Dean’s dick think it was being addressed directly on any other occasion. Now, however, Dean could only think about how warm it was. The hand on the back of his neck caressed him and all of it felt wonderful.

It felt more than wonderful: it felt like the only thing in the world – those lips and that tongue and this breath, all of them a beacon of heat in the darkness.

And then it all vanished with a gasp as Castiel yelled, “ _Sam!_ We’re in here!” at the top of his lungs, the words echoing from the walls around them. Dean remained conscious just long enough to hear his brother’s voice somewhere nearby and he was gone again.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Waking up was peaceful, like the slow, languid way you wake up from a marvellous night’s sleep and discover that it’s raining outside and you can stay in bed for as long as you want. Dean simply lay still and allowed his eyes to flicker open a few times, trying to focus in the dim light. They rested on run-of-the-mill motel furniture: a table, a TV, an empty bed a short distance away. He was lying on his side in his own bed, warm and cozy and thoroughly relaxed.

Someone was lying behind him. There was a body pressed up along his back and an arm draped around his shoulders, an open palm resting on the mattress by his face. Dean racked his brain, trying to remember what was going on, and breathed a sigh of relief when everything fell into place. The freezer. The sigil. Castiel. _Hugging._ They’d obviously been rescued and had returned to the motel; Sam was probably out buying coffee or hunting down the demon or something and Castiel had stayed with Dean to stabilize his body temperature.

It had worked. Dean felt amazing. He wriggled his toes, realizing as he did so that not only did they work and he could feel them – which was a huge relief, because he’d been convinced they were goners – but also that he wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothing. Bare skin to bare skin; the best form of heat transference. Right.

He looked down at the hand lying by his cheek and smiled. Castiel had done it. Somehow, he’d kept him warm enough to survive something no human should have been able to survive. It had involved snuggling, yes, but it hadn’t been that bad. In fact, the more Dean thought about it, the more he remembered – there had been finger-sucking too, which was pretty crazy, but it had felt great. And he also had the vaguest suspicion that at some point Castiel had kissed him, although he wasn’t really clear on the details; it was all a blur in his mind. He licked his lips, wondering if he could taste the proof, but there was nothing.

He was still pretty sleepy, true, but it surprised him that the thought didn’t freak him out. It wasn’t a bad memory. He was fairly certain he’d enjoyed it. And hell, all that time pressed up against Castiel had been nice, in a way. It was nice now, with warm, steady breathing on his neck and a leg tangled with his under the covers; intimate, but not scary.

Dean lay there for a while, thinking long and hard about everything that had happened and everything that could happen now. In the end, he decided he was simply over-thinking it. He lifted Castiel’s hand to his lips and kissed the palm dead-center.

An instant later, he had the weirdest feeling that he shouldn’t have done it.

It was a feeling that was confirmed when Sam said in his ear, “Uh, good morning to you too, Romeo.”

Dean was off the bed and on his feet in record time, so quickly, in fact, that he overbalanced and fell backwards on the next bed just as the headrush caught up with him. By the time he sat upright and blinked across at his brother, Sam was sitting up and grinning at him with an expression on his face of sheer joy – joy of the _I’m never gonna let you forget you just kissed me, you big girly wuss_ variety.

“Sam,” Dean managed to croak out. “I didn’t know that was you.” As soon as he said it he thought, _Damn. That doesn’t really help._

“I take it you and Cas got pretty friendly in that freezer,” said Sam with infinite glee.

Dean thought quickly. “Guess again, idiot. I was dreaming about Megan Fox. You’ve got bigger boobs than her, cause I could feel them against me and my brain got confused.”

“Suuure,” Sam replied in a voice that didn’t sound fooled for a second. “Anyway, I guess if you’re going around kissing people that means you’re feeling okay?”

Dean looked down at his hands, then wiggled his toes again. He was wearing underwear and nothing else, but he wasn’t cold at all. “I feel fantastic,” he observed. “Which is wrong, because I’m sure I should’ve lost at least a few toes in that igloo from Hell.”

“You have Cas to thank for that. He pulled some healing mojo on you when we got back here.” Sam narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like you two had a pretty shitty time. Sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

Dean picked up a pillow and threw it at him; Sam caught it deftly. “Next time you leave me on ice, the least you could do is have some coffee waiting for me when I wake up again.”

Sam grinned and climbed off the bed. “Your wish is my command, Frosty the Snowman. Shall I bring back some ice cream too?”

“Oh, you’re a laugh-riot today.”

“It’s not every day I wake up to a kiss.”

“How about tomorrow you wake up to a knuckle sandwich?”

Sam laughed, pulled on some clothes and left. The second the door closed, Castiel appeared.

“Well, if it isn’t my own personal hot water bottle,” Dean drawled, shooting him a smile.

Castiel was fully dressed again. Dean had gotten used to seeing him covered in frost, and so for a few seconds it surprised him to see how dark his hair was. He smiled at Dean in return – or as much of a smile as he seemed able to give, anyway, which wasn’t much – and took a step forward. “I told you that you weren’t going to die,” he declared, and damn it if he didn’t sound a little smug.

Dean got to his feet, wondering if he should feel bashful about standing there in nothing but his underwear, but he let it go. “Are you okay?” he asked, remembering the feathers.

Castiel nodded, his face giving nothing away, and Dean wondered about the blood and if the angel could even fly any more with bald patches on his wings.

“I guess I owe you,” he said after an awkward pause, as Castiel apparently didn’t want to discuss his own injuries. “Thanks for everything you did, Cas.”

Castiel’s expression changed into one that could only be called ‘mischievous’. “Thanks for everything?” he said with clearly feigned innocence. “What would you include under that heading, Dean?”

Dean blinked at him, realizing that Castiel was enjoying himself. Okay, so apparently he got his rocks off teasing people after he’d kissed them. Whatever. Dean frowned and shook his head. “Look, Cas… I know things got a little intense in there for a while.”

“Yes, they did.”

“And I know you and me… well, things got a little heated. If you, uh, pardon the expression.”

“I would agree.”

“I think you should know…” Dean stopped and licked his lips, wondering how to continue. He couldn’t tell Castiel that he wanted more. He _couldn’t_. He was Dean Winchester; he was a loner. He wasn’t supposed to fall for someone. He was supposed to go through life having casual sex and focus the rest of his energies on saving the world. It was his mission; a _God-given_ mission, no less. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. He didn’t want a relationship. Castiel was an _angel_. And a guy. This was so many levels of weird that Dean couldn’t even count them all.

He sighed. “Look, what happened… happened. It’s over now. I really appreciate what you did, I really do, but we shouldn’t mention it again. It was pretty crazy in there.”

Castiel said blankly, “Yes, it was.”

“I was dying, so the whole finger-sucking and the kissing stuff… it didn’t mean anything.”

“Of course.”

“So you’re happy to forget it? Call a do-over?”

Castiel nodded, his eyes twinkling with what looked like vast amounts of barely-concealed glee. “As you wish, Dean.”

Dean stared at him, wondering why he looked so goddamn pleased with himself, and then it hit him. He sighed. “Oh, crap. You know I don’t mean it. You’re totally reading my mind right now, aren’t you?”

Castiel smirked. “Totally.”

Dean looked down at the floor. He looked back up at Castiel. Then he muttered, “Aw, fuck it,” and closed the gap between them so that they could kiss.

This time, it was definitely _hot._

 

~ ~ ~


End file.
